


it's not you,

by chopinseimei



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, I don't know what the hell this is, M/M, shoma is angry, writing is a valid coping mechanism right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 04:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15065471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chopinseimei/pseuds/chopinseimei
Summary: it's me.Shoma had hoped that all these- the memories, stupid fluttering feelings- had been killed the moment Yuzuru had said it, in the aftermath of an argument that left the silence palpable and air heavy.“Shoma,” he’d said, as if it was as simple a matter of picking a favourite food at a restaurant. “I’m breaking up with you. Sorry.”





	it's not you,

Losing Yuzuru didn’t just happen. Yuzuru doesn’t let things just  _ happen. _

No, it was something slow, only noticeable in hindsight. Shoma wonders, now, if it was some sort of lame attempt at damage control on Yuzuru’s part that just backfired. Because now he just feels so so _stupid,_ for this to be going wrong for so long and for him to have never noticed. He feels seventeen years old again; oblivious to the world around him, of the competitors and press ready to turn on him at any moment, already spitting words of venom in a language he’d only learned from the insults thrown at him. But he’s gotten used to that. He’s over it.

But a life without Yuzuru? He can’t simply get used to that. He’s still tangled up in him even after they’d tried to cut the ties, still watches his skating and feels that familiar fluttering feeling. And it had been like that ever since juniors, when he thought this was just a puppy crush born out of the fleeting moments of linked hands and an awkward laugh.

But there was never anyone else he thought of like that. And he’d tried to stop it, spent countless nights wishing it away and crying into his pillow because he just wished things could be  _ normal. _

Normal was something he threw away the moment he chose figure skating as his career, though. Even if you’re someone’s arch rival, there’s an odd sense of family in gala practices and ice shows, and even in the barely-active group chats that blow up after a particularly good or bad skate. It’s.. odd, but comforting all the same.

And maybe that’s how all of this had happened. Shoma had let himself fall into the tight-knit group of team Japan, let himself get wrapped up in their praises and reassurances that he isn’t what the media says he is.

But, he’s realised, he is. He’s clumsy, he falls asleep during press conferences, his flawed jumps get undeserved GOE. He doesn’t deserve his Olympic medal.

What it says about his teammates- that they’d lie about that- Shoma doesn’t know. Maybe they’re just overprotective, or willfully ignorant. Maybe they don’t care as long as they get the points.

They aren’t like that, though. They all acknowledge their own flaws, watch programs together and comment on improvements that could be made.

Maybe they just thought Shoma was  _ that _ stupid.

Well. He _had_ thought Yuzuru really loved him, but here they are now; half a world away and unresponsive. And he should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve noticed the late night conversations come to a halt, should’ve noticed how Yuzuru didn’t even hold his hand in private anymore, never kissed him even in the quiet intimacy of early morning light filtering through the curtains and a soft summer breeze.

Shoma hates it all. Wishes he could take the memories and stomp them to shatters, throw away the evidence and pretend this never happened. Wants to forget that once upon a time he would have looked at the other skater with stars in his eyes and a fast-beating heart, short of breath and lovestruck. The butterflies in his stomach that he'd sworn he'd felt is just sickness, he swears to himself, because he never wants to feel anything toward Yuzuru for as long as he lives.

Shoma had hoped that all these- the memories, stupid fluttering feelings- had been killed the moment Yuzuru had said it, in the aftermath of an argument that left the silence palpable and air heavy.

“Shoma,” he’d said, as if it was as simple a matter of picking a favourite food at a restaurant. “I’m breaking up with you. Sorry.”

As if the apology had meant anything, dry and drawn out. Yuzuru’s cold, uncaring expression a dead giveaway.

He didn’t care. He never has.

Shoma hates  _ him.  _ Can’t watch his skating without wanting to scream it, how could he be so  _ heartless, _ keeping Shoma holding on to a relationship strung along by lost affections and feelings that were never there in the first place, but still go out there and skate record-breaking programs, spilling with emotions of love and longing that he knows the other hasn’t felt.

But Shoma hadn’t felt his world crash down upon him when Yuzuru finally said it, didn’t cry or shout or scream. Hasn’t felt anything about it since, numb to any kind of mourning over something that was never really there. He doesn’t  _ feel _ anything about the breakup, just a quiet resignation and anger at the lies he’d been fed for so long. Does that even give him the right to be angry about it?

Truthfully, Shoma doesn’t even care. Yuzuru hadn’t, not when he’d said it so  _ casually, _ as if he wasn’t forcing the bricks out of a mismatched and already crumbling wall that Shoma had so carefully built up for himself.

He grows lethargic to the world around him. Throws everything into his skating and even then hates what he does, sees fall after fall bring him out of medal contention, technical score dropping dramatically and components lacking.

Shoma doesn’t qualify for the Final.

Press are all over the story, claiming Shoma the sport’s worst headcase yet, broken down by the pressure of an Olympic silver medal and a long career ahead of him. He kind of wishes that were the case, so he would have something to come back from, something to drive him on and get better. But each competition feels like the same process; skate, tune out the crowd’s disappointment at his lackluster scores, go home and read the same repetitive articles about how he’s done, how a future star had been lost to some unknown pressure.

But those don’t keep him up at night, no. The thoughts of that night do, of Yuzuru’s dead stare over Shoma’s shoulder and out of the window into the night sky. Of the silence, how it hung heavy in the air and weighed down on the both of them.

Of Yuzuru’s slight tilt of the head as he starts, “It’s not you,”

And Shoma knows what he’s about to say, has heard it in about every tragic breakup story that he’d sworn he’d never get caught up in.

“It’s me.”

And Shoma doesn’t quite know if that’s true or not anymore. But for some reason, a life without Yuzuru suddenly seems a lot more desirable.

**Author's Note:**

> uh, i don't know what this is ahdfhfh. it was born out of a weird half-breakdown, and this'll probably be the last (really shitty and not proofread) thing i write for a bit bc my self confidence is.... not great right now and i feel super uninspired in general.
> 
> but all my social medias (twitter, tumblr, instagram) are chopinseimei if you wanna talk <3


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